Alexander the Decimator
"The only thing better than gutting an enemy is enjoying a spectacular view from atop a tall mesa, and then sniping an enemy." -Alexander the Decimator Background Alexander the Decimator, also known as''' Alex Bryant,''' is a wanderer currently living in Southern California. Childhood, 2255-2270 Alexander the Decimator was born Alexander Bryant in 2255 into a small, nameless, loosely connected tribe near Fort Smith, Arkansas and grew up near Oklahoma City. His mother was a prostitute and was killed on the job before he began forming his first memories. His father may have been any man from Memphis to Albuquerque. When he turned 7 he started picking mutfruit for a cap a day. The farmer, a man called Jim, had only one eye. The other was shot out by a raider before Alex was born. Jim killed that raider, and his four friends, with one eye and a .30-06 chambered bolt-action Enfield rifle. Alex enjoyed listening to the old man's stories while he clawed at the hard earth, trying to extract a fruit. He was enthralled by tales of Jim the Wanderer and his rifle Elizabeth. When Alex was ten, he gathered his gall and asked Jim to teach him to shoot. The old man was slightly reluctant, but ultimately he knew that in this world, it was a skill worth knowing. In 2269, when Alex was 14, Caesar's Legion first began rearing its head in Central Oklahoma, building outposts and setting checkpoints, clearing the road of wildlife. He saw them settling the land, making it safe. He never saw the darker end. Not then. The following year, Jim died. Alex buried him on the land, and marked it with a large stone. The old man would have been more than satisfied, Really he would be irritated someone went to so much work for a corpse. Alex stayed in the house for a few days, wondering what he should do. His entire life had been picking fruit for this crusty farmer. The only other life he knew was the one he had been told of in Jim's stories. A life on the road, exploring ruins, killing mutants, finding a meaning as you go. He went to Jim's room and grabbed the farmers old M1917 Enfield. The iron barrel was polished and shined black. The gun's wooden frame was around 350 years old, but had been well maintained for that time and showed little sign of degradation. It was hickory, stained burgundy, and even without maintenance would probably never rot. The stock of the rifle had been carved long ago and bore the name "BETH" prominently on its left side, and the phrase "the bitch kicks" less so on the right. Jim said it was enscribed by the original owner, a warrior called a Marine during a great war in which the whole world fought, although not the one that destroyed it, apparently. Early Years, 2270-2273 After Jim died, Alex wandered East, to his birthplace of Fort Smith. Not that he knew it. Or would have cared. Fort Smith itself was not a target for the bombs, although the Fort Chaffee military installation just south of the city was. Much of the southside of the city was vaporized. Nothing good lived in the city, but north across the river, the town of Bur was was a bustling trade community. He ran with the caravans as a guard for a time. In 2271 his caravan was passing through a small settlement in Missouri, when an old prospector came out of his shack and called to him. The man asked to look over Alex's rifle, and after returning to his shack for a moment, came out waving a clutched fist overhead. He returned to Alex and produced a small scope that fit the weapon. Quite a steal for a bottle of whiskey. Life was good but difficult. at first killing his fellow man felt nauseating to Alex, but he had been raised by an old wanderer with no moral compass, and in time it became second nature to him. He found an old biology book and studied the Circulatory system. Learned the arteries. He taught himself to throw a knife in his spare time, practicing on Brahmin posts when on the road. He was running with a water train in western Kansas in the summer of 2273. Four hundred heads of brahmin, 400 lbs of clean, lifegiving water each. Enough to supply all the settlements in the area for a month. Or, one band of raiders for longer. It was while the caravan was camped for the night in a ghost town once called Leoti that the descision was made. The Water Battle of Leoti, June 2273 The raider band known as The Sickles had been following the caravan for four days, since they left out from Great Bend. Along the way, they had gathered several chapters for the coming battle. They camped on the hill before Leoti, cleaning their guns, sharpening their knives. They stood at least one thousand strong as they watched the sun set over the darkening town. Down in the in the town, Alex was kicking down a boarded up door, trying to find a bed for the night, When he heard the first report. The sun had just set, and most of the light came from the many campfires scattered around the ruins. A second shot moments later. Screaming. A third, much closer, a return shot. There was no chance of seeing beyond the outskirts of town from within the circle of flames, and the wanderer knew he would need to navigate to the edge of town and assume an elevated position to provide effective sniper support. Beth was slung by a strap over his shoulder and hung across his back. As he was jogging down a darkened sidewalk, he grabbed her by the barrel and pulled the rifle around to his front. He quickly inspected the weapon. In it's reciever was a full magazine, the bolt was not yet locked and therefore no bullet was in the chamber. Safe for storage and ready to be armed in a moment. As the glow of fire began to fade behind him, he found an advantageous position: A partially collapsed two-story house with a telephone pole leaning against it. It took only seconds for him to scramble up the pole and reach the roof. To his left, gunshots pattered like raindrops. He beamed through his scope in the direction of the battle. At the edge of the camp, guards were stacked up behind cover, popping shots into the darkness from whence the enemies' bullets came. Caravaneers were rushing to hide their brahmin, or themselves. Others grabbed their arms and joined the battle. Beyond the town, in the darkness, Alex shot at the hundreds of silhouettes pouring down the hill. A few carried torches. By their light, he could see a few faces. All were dirty, all were thin. Many bore no armor. There were many, but the were a weak people. He performed a quick calculation in his head. With one caravaneer and two guards per brahmin, the camp should have a strength of twelve hundred, 800 experienced fighters. The battle went on through the night. At dawn, crows cried overhead. Alex came out of a shop, entirely red. In his hand he brandished his eight-inch combat knife, dripping with blood. He had stumbled onto a surviving raider while surveying the aftermath of the battle. The young man had lunged at the sniper from a shadowy corner armed with a hatchet, and after a brief melee, found peace with a blade in his chest. He found a few survivors. None were interested in continuing the route. Many said they would stay and try to build a city around their water supply. Others talked of taking what they could carry and setting off on their own. Neither happened, for the next day a detachment from Caesar's Legion arrived to collect the water. They said they had been observing the events of the last couple of days, and that they would be taking the water to redistribute throughout Caesar's lands. They offered the survivors of the battle a choice, come with them and become citizens of the legion, or set off into the desert alone and without any water. Exploits in Caesar's Lands, 2273-79 After they had left for Santa Fe, the legionaries asked Alex about how he had become so bloody. He told them of his part in the battle. After exhausting the advantage of his sniping position, he took to prowling the streets with his knife. One man was rushing down an alley, when Alex struck from a shadow and stabbed through his knee. The man collapsed and started screaming, and in a rush to silence the him, Alex hopped on him and stabbed him over seventy times and the face and chest. Another man's throat he slashed from under a table, pouring blood onto him like a shower. These stories of gore, and the sight of this bloodsoaked man struck them, and they called him from then on by his full name, Alexander. They told him of another Alexander, a king who lived in ancient times and conquered the whole world when he was younger than Alex was now. They also gave him the title of Decimator, because by his stories it seemed that he had killed a tenth of the raiders at Leoti by himself. On arrival at Santa Fe, Alex was given permission to take all the water he could and do as he wished. He saw no point in turning around, so he continued West. He found a suit of advanced combat armor in a navy surplus store north of Flagstaff in 2275, which he maintains and wears to this day. In 2276 he heard of a war gathering in the west, against "A Great Bear", but saw no reason to consider joining. In 2278 he heard that Caesar had lost that war. He was surprised, and saw that whatever was happening in the west was of great interest. In his years since Leoti he had explored vast expanses of lands. and everywhere he went had already been Caesar's. Now, out west, there was a new entity, big enough to beat Caesar back. He'd never imagined something like that being possible, and he wanted to see it. Core Region and Mojave, 2279-Present Alex arrived at the Colorado River, the western border of Caesar's Domain, in 2279 at Dry Wells. After seeking ferry across the river, he landed at Cottonwood Cove and set about his exploration of this new land. At some point later that year, he made allies of a Brotherhood of Steel chapter in Death Valley, who taught him the technique of Power Armor use. They also gave him a suit of T-45d which he tries to keep maintained but rarely wears. It is known that he killed a man who attempted to mug him in Arroyo that same year, after a brief investigation he was cleared of any crime, but was strongly urged not to return. At some point in 2280 he made a home for himself in an El Dorado Gas Station north of the Salton Sea, which he fortified and has made into quite a base and a home. Description Alexander the Decimator is a caucasian man standing 6' 1", at around 180 lbs. He typically wears mk2 Combat Armor, sometimes with a black trench coat over it. He also has a bandana and sunglasses he sometimes wears. His primary weapons are his M1917 Enfield rifle "Elizabeth"and his combat knife, although he owns and sometimes carries many more. He is not evil at all, but also with not particularly good. Raised by an old wanderer with little to no more compass, he usually acts out of self interest, although he has been known to show compassion to those who cannot defend themselves. Stealing and killing are everyday life, and in battle he is a cool, collected sniper from afar, yet a quick, furious and efficient knife fighter in the melee.